


you outshine the morning sun (my son)

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [10]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Alternate Universe - John Laurens Lives, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Canon Era, Courtship, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gay John Laurens, Gossip, Humor, M/M, Multi, NaNoWriMo, Period-Typical Homophobia, Politics, Unconventional conversations, Washingdad, Washingmom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8694220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: Snippets from the (don't) call me son universe, in which Alexander Hamilton is the son of George Washington.





	

**Author's Note:**

> what is this _life_ you speak of *hisses like Sméagol*

“Sir, you do not understand," Alexander Hamilton insisted. "I need to _rise_ _up_. The army is my only hope to ascend through the ranks of society and make something of myself!” he shouted out angrily.

Washington stiffened, then sighed resignedly. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit down, son,” he instructed, his tone brokering no argument.

When Alexander reluctantly sat down, muttering about sons and fathers, Washington poured the both of them a drink." I think you will find, dear boy," he began, "that we do indeed have much in common."

"Really?" Alexander challenged, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Please do regale me with the tale of your woeful childhood."

"Do not take that tone with me, young man," Washington warned. "You are more than welcome to leave, if you do not wish to listen and learn."

Alexander reluctantly apologized. "You were saying, sir?” he asked.

Washington sat down on the other side of the desk, facing Alexander. He took a sip of the whisky and exhaled." My father died when I was eleven, and I was left at the mercy of my autocratic mother," he began. "Though she never directly abused me, I have always felt trapped in my family home. All that mattered to her was money and my obedience. I never received a formal education. Granted, I went to the College of William & Mary for roughly a year, but I never graduated. Now, you might find this hard to believe, Alexander, but I had quite a temper in my adolescence. Not unlike you,” he said lightly, yet at the same time admonishing.

He chanced a look at his son's face. Alexander was utterly captivated by the tale, though he tried in earnest to put on an indifferent expression.

“Your Excellency, you are correct in your assumption that I find it hard to believe,” Alexander confirmed. “I cannot fathom you with any less of a stellar temper than you have at the moment.”

Washington smiled. “Actually, I was quite prone to bouts of anger, often unprovoked. It used to infuriate my tutors and my mother.

“As I was saying, I never received a formal education – my mother saw it as a use of valuable fiscal resources. Exactly like you, I was an autodidact, and through books, I learned everything I could about all manners of subjects, from how to dance and dress properly and how to behave in polite company, to advanced mathematics and even military tactics.

“You see, I realized early on that if I wanted to 'rise above my station', as you are wont to phrase it, I had to enroll in the Virginian army. I swiftly rose through the ranks, and at twenty-two, I was made lieutenant colonel – which is another parallel between us,” Washington pointed out.

Alexander frowned. “That parallel came about as a direct result on your decision to take me on as an aide-de-camp, sir,” he protested. “With this in mind, I do not think that it qualifies, as you brought about that parallel.”

“No, it came about as a direct result of your actions,” Washington refuted. “I did not know who you were, I chose you merely on your merits and achievements. You have nobody but yourself to thank for your military success. Now, may I continue on with my tale?” he asked pointedly, and, when Alexander nodded mutely, went on. “I was quite a reckless youth, always rushing into battle. I found the sound of gunshots to be charming,” he admitted, “though I now shudder at the very thought. 'Tis truly a miracle that I was not killed during my stint during the French and Indian War, the way I acted with utmost imprudence.”

Washington took a moment to drink the liquor in his glass. He then took up the tale. “Of course, you know the tale of how I was given a command of a battalion and lost over one third of my men during an ambush in Ohio in '54. For the first time in my life, I had truly realized the consequences of war, of death. My spirits were crushed and I felt like I had lost myself along with the men that died under my command. I was never reprimanded for their deaths, being as it was an ambush, but they have ever since laid heavy on my conscience.

"I resolved to travel the world to find myself again, and to take a pause from everyday life. By sheer coincidence, I met your mother on Nevis while I was there. Our affair was short, desperate, born out of a need for devoted human contact. It lasted hardly a week, after which I left the Caribbean, ignorant of the knowledge that I had sired a child.”

At that, Alexander could not help but snort. “With all due respect, sir,” he cut Washington off, “but how could you not realize that fornication usually leads to bastards?” he said, and if there was a tone of bitterness in his voice, Washington did not comment on it.

Instead, he launched into an explanation of his assumptions. “My boy, while I did not attract quite as many women as you do, I was by no means celibate throughout my life,” Alexander winced. He did not need that image forever adorning his mind. “I had quite frequently slept with several women, and none of them had ever exhibited the signs of pregnancy. Therefore, I surmised that I must be barren, a notion which was later further instilled into my mind when Martha and I tried for children, to no avail.

“Speaking of Martha – I eventually returned to Virginia, where I had found that my mother was ill and frail. I took over the family estate, and just in time, for barely two weeks after my return, my mother passed away. I maintained the estate and did everything expected of a young, wealthy tobacco planter. One of those things was to attend social events. At one such gala, I met Martha Custis, already once-widowed who had been previously married to an American planter. We courted each other, and were eventually married in '59. Though I love Martha's children as my own, we do not have any children together.”

“Which leads me to assume that Providence simply does not want us to have any other children,” Martha Washington's voice was heard as she pushed aside the flap to the tent and entered. In her arms, she held a ball of fur, which, on closer inspection, Alexander saw to be a cat. From there, his mind swiftly connected the dots, since Lady Washington only had one cat. _The cat named after the tomcat,_ John once joked.

Washington smiled. He stood up and crossed the room to greet his wife with a kiss on the cheek. “Martha, are you back already?” he asked.

She reciprocated the smile. “Yes. The camp is very peaceful this evening. Almost like we were not surrounded by a rowdy assortment of adolescents,” she said cheekily.

Alexander likewise hurriedly rose from the chair and bowed to Mrs Washington, as befitted her station. “Lady Washington,” he greeted, aiming for polite yet reserved.

Martha frowned. “Now, Alexander, do not be so formal with me,” she pleaded. “At least not while we are in private. Call me Martha.”

“Milady, you always deserve to be treated with the highest courtesy, regardless of whether we are in private or in public.”

She sighed and took a seat at the previously empty chair next to the one Alexander had been occupying. The men followed suit. “You know, Alexander,” she began, “it took me nearly three months after our wedding to convince George to call me anything but 'milady', but I managed it. I am confident that I will be able to accomplish a similar result with you.”

Alexander shook his head. “I would never insult a lady by insinuating that we are of a similar standing.”

Martha shot her husband a look that clearly said 'help me out here, your son is being obstinate'. Washington cleared his throat. “What my wife is trying to say is that you, as my son, have every right to call her Martha, and she wishes for you to utilize that right.”

“But sir,” Alexander contended, “I am your bastard, not your legitimate child, therefore I do not have the same rights as such a child would have had.”

Martha smiled slightly. “It doesn't matter to George, Alexander,” she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Alexander stiffened but did not withdraw his hand from her palm, which she counted as a victory. “He loves you regardless of your status. You are his son,” she reaffirmed, then finally let go of his hand and returned to petting the ball of fluff that was Alexander the cat.

Alexander blushed and darted a quick look at Washington, who attempted to look as inviting as possible. He must have succeeded because Alexander gradually relaxed his stance again, and was drawn into a light conversation between Washington and his wife.

Roughly an hour into the debate, Martha could not stifle a yawn. She stood up. “Well, I must bid you adieu for this evening. Alexander, meet Alexander,” she offered the cat to Alexander with an amused twinkle in her eyes – and really, he should have expected that she would hand him the cat. “Goodnight, George. Goodnight, Alexander.”

* * *

Alexander was facing a dilemma. He was courting Elizabeth Schuyler, quite possibly the most lovely lady on the face of the Earth, though the courtship was carried out mainly via letters. They had, so far, met only once, and yet he was utterly taken with the young lady. His feelings for her rivaled only his feelings for one other person – John Laurens.

Wherein laid the problem. How should he phrase his subsequent confession? She looked like the kind of person who would, at the very least, not report his misdemeanour to a law officer, but what if he was wrong about her? If he did tell her and she wasn't quite as tolerant as he thought of her? Would he have to face the noose, or would Washington terminate his life in quiet, ashamed of his aide-de-camp? What about John? Could he really risk the life of his companion just to satisfy his own guilty conscience?

Eliza smiled at him. “Hello, Alexander,” she reached out to touch his face.

Alexander took a step back. He ran his hand through his hair and said, "My dear Betsy, before I allow this courtship to progress further, I have a confession to make. It is unfair to conceal this from you, if we are to be married, though I know not whether you will still desire that once you are in the know."

Eliza blinked, looking up at Alexander worriedly. "Nothing you can say can make me love you less," she reassured him.

He laughed hollowly. "I am not so sure about that."

"What is it, Alexander?" Eliza prompted.

Alexander looked at anywhere but at Eliza. "You will find—" he began hesitatingly, "you will discover that my proclivities tend to be quite outside of what is considered the norm. Or even acceptable. Or lawful," he finished, his loquaciousness suspiciously gone.

Eliza stared at him. "Pardon me for being blunt, but are you saying that this marriage is nothing but a farce to you? That you do not love me? That you're simply using this marriage to hide your true feelings because—"

"No no no _no no_ , that is simply not true," Alexander hurried to reassure his bride-to-be. "You must understand, my dear, my love for you is never in doubt, Betsey. But, just as I am hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you, I do have similar feelings for John."

"John Laurens?" Eliza asked flatly. "Your friend?"

"He's so much more than a _friend_ to me," Alexander said, his voice no louder than a whisper, "but that does not diminish my love for you, my beloved Betsey," he hurried to assure her.

Eliza came to a decision. It was probably foolish, but it seemed to her that it was the only scenario where everybody could be happy. "Well, in that case," she braced herself. "As long as you love me as well, I see no reason why John should not be be involved in this arrangement."

Alexander stared at her, as though seeing her for the first time. "Are you implying what I think you're implying?" he inquired carefully.

Eliza smiled and put her hand on Alexander's shoulder. "Let me make myself clear my love: I do not wish to rob you of your happiness, and if there is some measure of happiness that John can give you but I cannot, then who am I say no to that?"

Alexander grinned, then laughed. To Eliza's ears, his genuine laughter sounded like music. “I do not deserve you, Elizabeth Schuyler,” he grabbed her hands and caressed them with care.

Eliza pecked him on the lips. “That may be, but know that I choose you nonetheless,” she squeezed his hands. She looked into his eyes. “Alexander Hamilton,” she began, “will you make me the happiest woman on Earth?”

Alexander blinked, then grinned wider. “Methinks that you stole my line, love.”

“Is that a yes?” Eliza raised an eyebrow.

“Of course. Every hour of every day until we depart from this realm and beyond, it will be a yes.”

There would be consequences for this, Eliza knew, and it would not be easy to juggle such a controversial relationship in high society (and while Alexander always insisted on climbing even higher than he already was), but Alexander's corresponding smile made them all worth it.

* * *

“So, Mr Laurens,” Eliza said as she put down her cup of tea and reclined on the couch. “Are you in a, let us say, similar situation to my husband, in that you are predisposed towards people of both sexes?”

John blushed. He looked away from Eliza's searching stare. “No, ma'am– I mean Eliza,” he corrected himself swiftly, “I am afraid that I am even more of an oddity than Alexander, since I find myself attracted exclusively to men.”

One of Eliza's eyebrows went up in bemusement. “Exclusively?” she inquired with curiosity. “But you have a daughter,” she pointed out. “You were married.”

John abruptly found his fingers very fascinating. “Yes, ma'am, but that was an accident, actually,” he said. “I craved to prove to myself that I was attracted to women, and I latched onto the first woman that I could find. One thing led to another…”

“You had sex,” Eliza supplemented, and snickered at John's look of dismay. “Look not so horrified, John, I am not some virgin who is obtuse of the arts of human intimacy.”

“No, indeed not,” John blushed deeper. He drew in a sharp breath to muster the courage to continue. “When we discovered that she was with child, I felt that my honour could not allow me to sentence my child a the life under the stigma of illegitimacy, especially when I personally know, from Alexander's stories, how detrimental that could prove to an innocent child's upbringing.”

“How very noble of you, Mr Laurens,” Eliza sipped at her tea, prodding John until he followed suit. “And now you are the sole parent of your daughter Frances. She is adorable, by the way. Angie is utterly taken by her,” Eliza grinned.

John imbibed his tea. It had a sweet aftertaste which John found pleasant. “Frances will likewise simply not stop spewing Angelica's virtues.”

Eliza sat up straighter. “Now, John, there _is_ actually a reason for why I invited you here, beyond the fact that I wanted to enjoy your company.”

“What is that reason, if I may ask?”

“I want to gossip about Alexander. More specifically, about certain quirks of his,” she wiggled her eyebrows until he caught on to her meaning and flushed a deeper red. “When he is with you, does he do that thing with his tongue?”

“I am afraid that milady will have to be more specific. Alexander has a variety of tongue tricks,” John replied, still blushing but clearly intent on not being the one to shy away from the topic.

“Aren't you a _clever boy_ , John Laurens?" Eliza snickered. "Well then, let me specify."

When Alexander found them hours later, the were both spread out on the couch, not touching yet clearly comfortable in each other's presence, conversing about various topics, having since moved on from Alexander. When they set their eyes on him, they could no longer contain their laughter. Alexander made a show of groaning as it occurred to him that his wife and his dear Laurens were far too similar not to come to an agreement about teaming up against him.

On the inside, he was smiling.

* * *

The door to Senator Burr's office was slammed open. In barged Vice President Alexander Hamilton — also known, at least to Burr, as the anthropomorphic personification of a migraine.

Disregarding the fact that Burr was obviously overwhelmed by work, Hamilton strode to his desk and poked at Burr's shoulder until the other man looked up with irritation in his eyes. “What is it, Hamilton?” Burr's tone came off as more harsh than he had intended. Hamilton did not seem to mind, but then again, not much could dampen his singleminded focus once on a mission.

“Burr," Hamilton began, "if I said —  _hypothetically_ , of course — that I wanted to run for president, what would be your response?” he asked flippantly, casually leaning against Burr's desk.

Burr put down his quill in order to avoid spilling ink over the papers he has spent hours pouring over. It was obvious that he would not get any work done with the immigrant present. “I would say that you have reached the end of your already questionable sanity,” he replied flatly.

Hamilton drummed his fingers against desktop. Though it tended to drive him up the wall, Burr barely noticed this time. “Come on, Burr,” Hamilton coaxed him, “what if I were to offer you the vice presidency?”

Burr huffed. “If this is some sort of pity gesture, then I do not need it, nor do I want it. You emerged victorious in the last election, and I have accepted it," he repeated the words he has told himself countless times in his mind.

“It it's not that at all,” Hamilton hurried to reassure him. “You are my oldest friend – well, after Hercules – and you know me very well. You tend to hold opinions that are the opposite of mine, so we would complement each other.”

“If you want someone who does not agree with you, Jefferson would be a far better choice." Burr did not know why he was attempting to dissuade Hamilton from his plan, when this has always been his dream, and now he was being offered the second most powerful position in the country practically on a silver platter.

Hamilton scoffed. “It will be a cold day in hell if I actually consider Jefferson as a running mate for any sort of competition, much less actually offer him the second most powerful office in the country. Burr, why do you refuse me? Is it truly so abhorrent a thought to you?” he questioned. His eyes took on the look of a puppy that expected to be kicked any second.

Burr had never been able to refuse that look, though he never told Alexander that. God knows the man had too much power over him already without being cognizant of the effect he had on Burr.

“Tell me: are the rumours concerning yourself and General Washington true?” he attempted to change the subject instead of contemplating what it would be like to run an entire country at Hamilton' side. Not that the thought was not tempting. In fact, it was _too_ tempting. The subject change might distract Hamilton from his personal version of a Spanish Inquisition, except that with swords and torches, Hamilton attacked with words – though the results were no less bloody.

Hamilton was not fooled. “That was the single worst attempt at obfuscation that you have ever tried on me,” he retorted flatly.

“Well, if I am to work with you as closely as you suggest, I need to know these things," Burr argued.

Hamilton frowned. “You would do well to ignore these rumors," he told him, voice hard.

“Who is dancing around the subject now?” Burr taunted him.

Hamilton watched him with scrutiny. He finally sighed, as though coming to a decision. “If you are to be privileged to such personal information,” he began carefully, "you must first agree to be my vice president.”

Burr considered this. An ultimatum, then. If he wished to satisfy his curiosity, he had to agree to join forces with Alexander and potentially be settled with him for four years. It was a clever trap. Not for the first time, Burr understood why Hamilton was called a master of persuasion as well as a wordsmith.

In the end, his curiosity got the better of him. “Very well,” he conceded. “I will be your vice president, though I hardly see how my presence will help you win an election. As much as it pains me to admit it, I am hardly popular among the crowds,” he said bitterly.

Alexander shot him a blinding smile. “Worry not, Burr. I've got it all in hand. Now, what do you want to know?” he said easily.

“Were you two lovers?” Burr asked, watching with satisfaction as Hamilton choked on air. _Take that, Hamilton.  
_

When he regained control over his respiratory tract, he fixed Burr with an accusing glare. “Burr, please do me a favor and never again insinuate that General Washington and I were sexually involved. The very thought revolts my mind and churns my stomach.”

“Why?” Burr asked. “Because you are both men?” he said, more to get a rise out of the older man than because he believed his accusation to be true. Hamilton was, after all, rather close with both Lafayette and Laurens during the war – certainly much closer than Burr was with any of General Putnam's staff – and, if he had engaged in acts of sodomy with anyone, improbable as the possibility was, it would have been with either of those men.

Hamilton shook his head. “Because I have never seen his Excellency as anything but a father and a mentor. To clarify my response: no, we did not engage in such unspeakable and unlawful acts, nor did I ever desire for us to, and I highly doubt that the General wished for that either.”

Burr noticed that he pointedly omitted to comment under Burr's assumption. He quirked his head. “Another question, then: is the General your father?” Burr watched Hamilton, who was suspiciously quiet. “Alexander?”

Alexander stilled, all amusement gone from his face. “Where did you hear that rumor?” he demanded sharply.

“So it is true, then.”

Hamilton swept the air around him with his hands. “Surely you, of all people, do not subscribe to such baseless rumors,” he began.

“Alexander, if you want me to believe you, look me in the eye and validate that they are truly baseless,” Burr insisted.

Hamilton avoided his eyes. He steeled himself. “I cannot, Burr.”

That was all the confirmation Burr needed. The room was silent for a moment (Burr spared a thought to wonder that Hamilton could shut up for this long) as Burr contemplated the revelation. He frowned as something occurred to him. “Did he–“

Hamilton cut him off before he could finish. “This is precisely why I did not tell anyone. I do not appreciate you questioning my accomplishments, which are my own. The General did not show favouritism towards my person based on our relation. He is not a person who is wont to engage in nepotism. You see now why I was disgusted by your notion that he and I were engaged in sexual intercourse,” Hamilton's lip turned upwards into something resembling a mocking smile.

Burr was surprised that Hamilton knew what he was going to ask before he even finished formulating the question in his mind. Then again, that is Hamilton down to a tee – always three steps ahead of everyone else, mind working non-stop. “Indeed, that would be quite a list of sins. Incest, sodomy, and adultery, not to mention sleeping with your commanding officer.”

Hamilton groaned. “Yes, thank you, Burr, for listing everything wrong with a potential sexual relation with my father. If I never imagine that scenario again, it will be too soon,” he scowled.

Burr smirked. "I aim to please."

* * *

Alexander reclined in his chair as he surveyed the paperwork in front of him. The day had been bad right from the start – they had been woken up by an upset Angie, who cried that Philip stole her dresses, which Frances promptly confirmed. Alexander and John shared a bewildered look – what Philip could possibly want with his sister's dresses evaded them both – but Eliza only sighed. She got out of bed, and Alexander scrambled to follow. As he closed the door to the bedroom, he vaguely heard that John was talking to Angie in a quiet, calming voice, followed by someone, probably Frances, climbing into their bed and bouncing on it.

He and Eliza quickly discovered for what purpose Philip pilfered Angie's dresses: he was making a cape for himself, “so that I can be a knight!”, in Philip's words. Eliza and Alexander shared a long look, then Eliza set about cleaning up their son's mess while Alexander tried to explain in as simple terms as possible that it was not acceptable to steal his sister's dresses.

As a result of the morning ordeal, he was late for work. Then Secretary Knox pounced upon him, droning on slowly about a plan or other that he had, and refused to leave his office until Alexander promised to look at it. The day progressed with Vice President Adams not showing up to the cabinet meeting (to the surprise of exactly no one), followed by Jefferson insulting Alexander's fashion sense (also as usual), to which Alexander retorted that Jefferson must be colour-blind not to see the disaster of a coat he was wearing (once again, not surprising), which resulted in Washington finally dismissing them, as though they were a pair of infantile children. In other words, a normal if tiring day.

After the cabinet meeting, he wanted to make revisions to his debt plan, but one of his pens broke, and another had been misplaced. When he finally found a functioning pen, he could not find his ink, which only meant that Jefferson had been going though his possessions yet again.

After that, it was one thing after another – John Adams finally showing up, only to ignore all paperwork and decide to 'take a day off', Madison purposefully taking up all of Washington's time, and Senator Clinton loudly badmouthing everyone within hearing range. The day could hardly get any worse.

Someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” Alexander called out tiredly. What _now?_ Why could they not simply leave him be, so that he could finally finish that financial plan? Was it too much to ask for?

It was Jefferson and Madison. It seemed that Alexander spoke too soon. The day could _always_ get worse – all it took was a conversation with the two Virginians. (And to think that Madison used to be a decent type, before he began to socialize with the likes of _Thomas Jefferson_.)

Alexander plastered on an obviously fake smile, hoping against hope that they would just go away. “How can I help you?”

“You can start by ceasing to publish all that Federalist propaganda,” Jefferson began.

Alexander tilted his head, considering Jefferson. “My essays are not propaganda, Jefferson, and whyever should I stop?"

Jefferson smirked. “I was rather hope you would ask that,” he took out a bundle of papers, and began to read the one on top. “ _'Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words to convince you that I love you.'_ I can almost see the headlines,” Jefferson gesticulated in front of him. “ _'Treasury Secretary A Sodomite!'_.”

“Your career is _done_ ,” Madison added for good measure.

Alexander laughed. “Is that all you have? I must say I am a tad disappointed,” he taunted. “I expected better blackmail material of you. Every soldier who ever served with us, starting with our mutual friend, the dear Marquis de Lafayette, will testify that John and I have always been close friends. You have no proof, merely gratuitous accusations, and _no_ , this is not a confirmation of anything,” Alexander declared defiantly.

Jefferson and Madison exchanged a glance. Jefferson then stood up. “Watch yourself, Hamilton,” he said, a frantic gleam in his eyes. “The moment you slip up, we will be there to tear you into pieces and bury your reputation so deep that you will never recover it.”

Alexander also stood up. “If nothing else, Jefferson, you merit an award for Most Garrulous Threat,” he shot back. “Believe me, Secretary Jefferson, I will. Now, gentlemen, though I doubt whether that word applies to the likes of you, I would appreciate it if you vacated my office. Unlike John Adams, I actually take my job seriously.”

“What job?” Jefferson taunted him, echoing his frequent criticism of Adams both during the cabinet meetings as well as outside of them. (Alexander was nothing if not thorough.)

“Goodbye, Jefferson, Congressman Madison,” he inclined his head before shutting the door in their faces. He made sure to lock the door before allowing himself to sink to the ground.

That was close. Too close for comfort. He and John would have to take more precautions than ever.

* * *

“Come on, George, it will be fun!” Martha grinned. “Are you not excited to meet your grandchild?”

George sighed. “I am, my dear. Believe me, I have never wanted anything more in my life. Yet doubts plague me: what if he does not like me?”

“You are his grandfather, stop worrying.”

“Yes, but he does not know that. He simply believes that I am Alexander's mentor.”

“And that, if nothing else, will earn his respect,” Martha pointed out gently. “Besides, do you really think that Alexander did not tell him the truth?”

“He did not. He is ashamed of being my son.”

Martha stopped dead in her tracks. She looked at him with concern. “Why would you think that?” she asked quietly, tilting down his head to meet his eyes.

George's posture sagged. “He has never been particularly enthusiastic when I made references to our relation, and he never called me father. He twitches every time I call him my son. Is that not evidence enough?”

“No, George,” Martha said calmly. “That is evidence of Alexander being afraid of having a father, not ashamed of you. He has never had a father before, and now that you are in his life, he does not know how to behave. He reverts to his defense mechanisms, which is to keep a distance from everyone who cares even remotely about his well-being.”

George did not say anything. Martha embraced him. “Trust me on this, my love: Alexander is proud to be your son. Besides, you are forgetting something: Philip is only four months old. He has not yet started to form his own opinions. You will be alright.”

George finally cracked a smile. “Indeed,” he was quiet for a moment. “I never expected a child of my own, let alone grandchildren.”

“Life is fickle and capricious, but that is not always a bad thing, George.”

“Indeed, 'tis not,” George kissed his wife, and they both set off to visit the Hamiltons.

**Author's Note:**

> From Wikipedia: _From a young age, Laurens exhibited a lack of attraction to women. When Laurens was an adolescent, Henry Laurens wrote to his friend James Grant about John’s disinterest in girls, stating, "Master Jack is too closely wedded to his studies to think about any of the Miss Nanny’s I would not have such a sound in his Ear, for a Crown; why drive the poor Dog, to what Nature will irresistably prompt him to be plagued with in all probability much too soon." As Laurens matured, his closest relationships were formed with those of the same gender; Laurens' biographer Gregory D. Massey states that he "reserved his primary emotional commitments for other men." Though he eventually married, it was a union born out of regret. While in London for his studies, Laurens impregnated Martha Manning and married her to preserve the legitimacy of their child. Laurens wrote to this uncle, "Pity has obliged me to marry."_
> 
> Also, sorry for the historical inaccuracies. At the point when I got to Gwash's marriage, my internet connection took a holiday in Miami, so I ended up using what I remembered from history books and filling in the blanks myself. Please don't kill me?


End file.
